Not content with spending the best part of the past year working their way around South Asia, the bastards wasted no time nicking off before the end of the celebrations to catch a plane to California, so we still don't know if they're legally married, unless they managed to cover some of the finer details on the plane.
Good luck and god bless to the pair of you.
The weather was grand, the bride stunning, and even Chopper looked presentable, cutting a very fine jib in his funky shoes - chosen for dancing, not for polishing.
I shit you not, that the roast beef was the best I've ever had at a wedding reception, and better than most restaurant attempts at the same thing. And to get pork too, with crackling to die for, left me a very stuffed and content slippymark.
The band were fantastic, it's such a shame that my back was again borked, or there would have been shapes thrown that would have befuddled Pythagoras and Euclid. Fortunately there was enough booze and good company on tap to still have a wonderful evening.
And to bring out plates of bacon butties as the evening drew on? Pure inspiration. Didn't need them, but it would've been rude not to have a couple. And some sausages. And some of the fairy cakes that Rebeccas mum made, that were the actual wedding cake (rather than some mucky marzipan - bleugh!)
A nice hotel nearby polished off a perfect day. The Maison Renouf was upmarket enough to have a whole 'help yourself' display of drinks, fruit, muffins, flapjacks and biscuits in the corridor, so help ourselves we jolly well did, and off to Katieluv's room for hot chocolate, and more cake.
I shan't lower the tone by revealing who's just bought a 'special trimmer', who's the only one of the group to have had a 'Hollywood', or just what I did to that grape before I gave it to Gingerfeck.
Congratulations Mr & Mrs Chopper. I hope you have a fantastic time in America, and we'll see you for all the pictures when you get back.
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